


Lost Star

by Ursula



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-15
Updated: 2002-01-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 09:24:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: Why Alex acted as he did.





	Lost Star

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Lost Star by Ursula

Title: Lost Star  
Author/pseudonym: Ursula  
Fandom: X Files  
Genre: Slash  
Pairing: Skinner/Krycek and Mulder/OMC  
Date Posted: 1-10-02  
Rating: R  
Status: New  
Archive: Full House, DIB, Other by request  
E-mail address for feedback: or   
Series/Sequel: Is this story part of a series: No  
Other web sites:  
My site on Full House Slash Archive: http://fullhouseslash.slashcity.net/~ursula/  
Disclaimers: X Files, Skinner,Krycek, Mulder and other characters do not belong to me. Sniff...  
Notes: Spoilers to Season Eight  
Time Frame: Post Season Eight:  
Summary: Why Alex acted as he did.

* * *

The Present: Walter

There's loss and there's lost.

I was lost. I was mazed in the catacombs of grief, as heavy, dead, and dark as the cold matter of a dead star. Waking, the scream again ripped raw from my throat. I tumbled from the bed and ran to the john, clinging to the basin as the bile and whiskey ripped from my body.

Falling to my knees, I rose, fell, staggered, and crawled to the locked, fireproof box. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," I cursed as I pried at the lock.

Pray, love, remember...

The key turned and I took the two pictures out. One of them of us together...Kim had taken that, unaware of quite what she was capturing that day when she snapped a picture of her boss with the new agent for her thick scrapbook. Alex had been looking into the distance. I had been reaching for the coffee creamer, but I looked as if I was reaching for Alex's outstretched hand. Kim probably thought I asked for it because I was embarrassed about how it looked. Hardly, it was a beautiful picture of Alex, catching the down-turned profile and the half-turned face like a cameo raised upon my heart. I had been frozen by the beauty of that faraway expression on my new lover's face, overwhelmed by a mixture of lust, aesthetic admiration, and pride that he was mine.

The edges of the snapshot were worn by the million times that I had handled it. One corner of the picture was burnt. I'd started a fire to destroy all the memories. I'd gone as far as to shove the picture towards the flames but before the fire did more than crisp an edge, I'd reached in and rescued it, burning my hand. Not the last time Alex had scorched me.

The only other picture I had left was a studio portrait. God, how lovingly the photographer had tried to catch the essence that was Alex. This one had been my favorite...Alex's lips were curved in the faintest of smiles. His eyelashes partially veiled his eyes but they still shone verdantly from beneath the shadows. I had blown over two hundred dollars at the studio, unable to resist every possible pose. I had burned every fucking one the first time Alex had tortured me with the nanobytes, saving only Kim's snapshot.

So how did I get this portrait?

It was hardly black magic.

The picture had hung in the studio as an example. Two days ago when I had been shopping for a gift for Kim's birthday, I had passed the business and looked up to see Alex's portrait shining like a beacon from all the glamour shots, cute kids, and baby pictures. It had taken five hundred dollars to buy the print from the man, a bribe because the subject was not available to release the rights.

"He's dead," I had explained thickly, throat closing with pain. "He's dead and I need that picture. Don't you remember? We came in together."

"No buddy, I take a lot of pictures...I just liked this one. It's a good advertisement and women like to look at him," the young black man had said. My face must have said everything; the man had relented and sold me the copy from the wall.

My eyes burned but I could not weep. I told myself a thousand times...

I had to do it. Hadn't I?

Yeah, I had to do it. But, it hurt so badly now - never mind that I'd saved Mulder's life. Oh, the man Krycek had become made the choice inevitable. But still, I couldn't help but remember the good times. Those months when my barren life had bloomed with my young lover. Even after I found out what Alex was, it wasn't over. Then, when I thought he was returning to me, when I decided to leave everything behind for his sake, my Alex had undergone a drastic personality change. Acted as if our time together had never happened. What the hell had happened to us? Where had it all gone? Mulder's visit only made things worse, if such a thing were possible.

That night was not that much different than any other that had passed. I knew my torment showed on my face, deep circles under my eyes. My clothing hung on me. I was gaunt with mourning. My only hunger was for a man lost to me forever.

As I had spent more and more time contrasting the two versions of Alex I'd known, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into depression. I could barely drag myself out of bed in the morning. Night after night, dreaming of the dead body of my former lover left me tired and emotionally drained each morning.

It had been so good between us. I could see clearly, in my mind's eye, the way Alex had looked at me - and, the expression on his face as he reached orgasm... no one could fake that, could they? And, I'd loved Alex with an intensity that frightened me at times.

So, what the hell had happened? The damned nanobytes had been the final snap of every link between us. And it still hurt.

That sweet, hot lover had vanished on the wings of a promise. I'd tried to regain his affection even after the nanobytes, but the man just stared at me through flat green eyes, without expression - as if the past had never happened.

My depression was affecting my work - or, my demeanor at work. Kim had asked what the problem was and had offered to help in any way possible. I could hardly explain what tormented me to my sweet innocent secretary. Then, Kim apparently talked to Scully - and worst of all to MULDER.

So, there I sat, listening to Mulder say, "You had no choice, you HAD to do it. Besides, the man was a rat bastard. He'd have killed you sooner or later."

I shook my head. "No, Alex wouldn't have killed me," I said with complete conviction.

Instantly, understanding flashed over Mulder's face. I sometimes wondered if he wasn't an X-File himself. He has a knack for leaping to conclusions and being right.

"You and ALEX?" Mulder asked incredulously. He grimaced and remarked, "You're joking. What were you thinking? Taking a chance like that? I know he was hot stuff, but really, Walter...let me look up the number for one of my classmates who counsels people with sex addictions."

"Shut up, Mulder, shut up. You don't understand," I accused. All I had left were the memories and I didn't want Mulder to take those from me.

"What don't I understand? That you were flattered by the attention of an attractive man? That the divorce shattered your ego and you wanted to prove that you could get someone beautiful to sleep with you?" Mulder jabbed.

My hands were around the insolent man's throat in a moment. I didn't care that the man was my friend, my former subordinate. I just wanted to shut him up and to stop the pain that the acid words etched on my soul. It hadn't been that way! No, I really believed that the moment I saw Alex and he saw me that it was magic. It was meant to be.

"Jesus Christ, Walter!" Mulder gasped as he broke away, "Are you nuts?"

I swayed, horrified by my actions.

Backing away, I realized I couldn't remember the last time I had managed to keep a meal down. When had I last slept? Night was blending with day in dull gray progression.

I looked at Mulder, "Get out, Mulder. Leave me to my memories."

After he left, I went back to my pictures. The past was all that I had left.

<<<<O>>>>

A thought came to my head, a brilliant intuition. Mulder was alive. Mulder had been dead and buried, but the alien virus had kept him suspended in some pupae-like state long enough to save him. Alex had been exposed...repeatedly perhaps. What if he was waking in the coffin that I had bought for him? What if he could be brought back and cured as Mulder was?

<<<<O>>>>

"Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes, write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let's choose executors and talk of wills. And yet not so-for what can we bequeath save our deposed bodies to the ground?"

Alex had left that written in a note on an envelope the last time we had ever made love at my apartment. Within were the legal documents appointing me his executor; he had never seen fit to change that. By the time he died, he was no longer impoverished. He left behind a vast sum of money. It sat in Swiss bank accounts, untouched, except for the amount it took to bury Alex.

And the amount it took to arrange for the fraudulent death certificate.

'Heart Failure' was how the death certificate read. It was vaguely true. Extreme loss of blood can cause heart failure. The bullets had been removed at my request. I'd destroyed them. Other than that, I'd laid him to rest, untouched. The law permitted burial without embalming if the death certificate said natural causes. Alex had not wanted to be autopsied or to have his body violated in any other way.

Out of that vast amount of money, that I had no idea how to use, I had purchased this expensive plot. I hadn't been able to plant the briar because the cemetery committee said I could not, but the rose was nearly blooming now. I broke off a bud, a white rose, pale blossom, but as sweet as any red bloom. "He loves me, he loves me not." I said, scattering the petals on the green grass of Alex's grave.

Standing up, I saw the shovel standing next to an open grave. It had been dug by modern means; the shovel was no doubt for the graveside ceremony. Ashes, ashes, all fall down.

I must not think. I must not consider what I might see if I am wrong. The shovel broke the turf, slid in with surprising ease. I hadn't been able to decide how to dress Alex. His black leather was like him, but that or the cheap suit people might take amiss. The key in Alex's pocket had been to a luxurious hotel room and I had found expensive suits hanging in the closet. Choosing one, I'd given the rest to charity. The books and his handful of other belongings remained in a box in my hall closet. When I'd boxed the books, I'd wondered, 'When had Alex taken to reading in Italian?'

A hand grabbed me, spun me around; I faced Mulder's set expression. "You really have gone mad. What are you doing? Do you know how it would look to be caught desecrating a grave?"

"You lived. We thought you were dead and you lived." I said.

"I chose you, Mulder, chose you to live...I thought I hated him, but I cannot fucking do this...it can't end this way. You lived, Mulder, because of what the aliens did to you. They had him too," I said.

"That was different. He had a vaccine. Don't you think he would have used it on himself? He hated the Oiliens, Walter. He was desperately afraid of them," Mulder explained.

Taking the shovel, Mulder set it with care back on the mound of earth. He knelt and said, "Walter, come here. Put the sod back over him. You have to let go. Come on."

Something broke. Something crumpled as I smoothed the earth back over Alex as tenderly as I had rearranged the blanket over my sleeping lover when I went into work on Saturday and left my Alex sleeping...

Mulder bullied me back to my apartment and out of my damp clothes. I realized I had really lost it if Mulder was the sensible one.

He made me shower, shave and put on fresh clothing. I was trembling with fatigue.

Putting a cup of coffee in my hand and a blanket around my shoulders, Mulder asked, "I thought you hadn't seen Krycek between the time he beat you up in the stairwell and when I brought him here?"

"I saw him," I admitted, closing my eyes and leaning back in my armchair. "It was right after that happened. You remember I was out ill for a few days?"

"Yeah, Scully was worried. She wanted me to check on you, but there was so much going on," Mulder said.

"It was a good thing that you didn't show up," I said. "You might have been shocked."

I remembered that I had staggered in the door. I'd had to pause, leaning in the doorway, hunched over like a very old man. My ribs had felt worse, but not recently.

I wasn't sure if I was more heartsick over losing the DAT tape or over the beating from the man that I once thought I loved. Who was I trying to kid? It was Alex...why had he done it? I sat down heavily on the couch, my hands holding my aching sides. A shadow moved and I drew my gun.

Alex...

My former lover was silent as a ghost. He crossed the room and knelt down in front of me, forehead touching my knees in supplication. That made my cock stir despite my weariness. Damn him!

"Krycek, what the fuck are you doing here? Looking for someone else to shoot or maybe you need to finish the job from the hospital. But don't you need your two friends along to punch me?" I had said, as I reached over and switched on the light.

There was blood in Alex's hair and along one sleeve of his shirt. I asked, "What happened to you?"

"Spender tried to blow me up with a car bomb," Alex said.

"What?" I asked. "Why?"

"Fucking Cardinal shot the wrong woman. We were supposed to get the DAT tape if Scully had it. It wasn't very important if she lived afterwards. Cardinal just lost it and shot the woman who came into the apartment while we were searching. I didn't even tell him it was Melissa Scully, not Dana. We didn't find the DAT tape either. We just ran," Alex said. His eyes were still glassy from shock and pain.

'I won't let myself be fooled again,' I'd thought, even as I reached for Alex. My hands touched the silken hair and strayed through it, reveling in the familiar silken touch before checking and noting the gash along the side of his head. I plucked a fragment of glass from Alex's scalp, noticing my former lover didn't even wince. I thought he was in shock. He was sheet pale and trembling. God help me, all I wanted to do was to hold him, keep him safe, and claim him.

"Did you get hurt anyplace else?" I asked, struggling to make my voice neutral.

"My shoulder caught a piece of shrapnel," Alex had replied.

Pushing Alex back, I'd winced as I struggled to my feet. The doctor had said my ribs weren't broken, but it had felt like it. I said, "Come on. Let's have a look and I suppose I can share my prescription with you."

Alex remained on his knees for a moment, looking down with his hair hanging in his face. It was almost too long now and, free of the gel, was quite beautiful. I felt my cock respond to the sight and jerked my head angrily at the conditioned response.

"Get up," I snapped, watching Alex flinch. The man was pulling out all the stops, I thought. Yet, he had nothing left to win now so maybe it was real. My voice softening despite myself, I said, "You came to me for help, Agent."

Alex nodded and staggered to his feet. He followed me into the bathroom and gingerly struggled out of his shirt. The arm wound wasn't too bad.

Alex explained, "I was wearing my leather jacket and it stopped most of the metal. I was close enough that I felt the heat scorching my neck. If I hadn't noticed that the clock was blinking in a strange way, I'd be dead now. I thought it was weird that they stopped at that store and that Cardinal left his gun in the car..."

"So they were going to sacrifice you?" I said.

I was a pawn of the consortium, not a player, but I understood how it worked. Spender was so sure he was the better leader. He had said to me, "You're soft. You care too much. It's like chess, Skinner. You have to look at the end game. A pawn is lost; a man dies. What's important is how it advances your play."

To Spender, Alex Krycek was just a pawn, a difficult one at that. Spender must have decided that the boy had outlived his usefulness.

"Yeah," Alex said. "He thinks I'm weak and a liability. He'd rather have a fool like Cardinal, who is just a trigger on a gun, rather than someone capable of thinking for himself."

"That might be his weakness in the end," I said. "Leadership is caring about your people. Spender can't do that."

"I thought he liked me," Alex said bitterly. "I believed there was a cause greater than my needs, your needs... I thought that Mulder's quest was the problem. I'm an idiot, aren't I? When I saw Melissa lying there, I realized innocent people died too. Walter, how can I get away? He wants me dead. Everyone wants me dead."

Surprising myself, I admitted, "I don't." Shaking my head, I said, "That arm wound needs a bandage."

"May I shower first?" Alex asked.

"I suppose so," I said.

My lover had returned. My eyes closed for a moment. I could feel his presence, felt as if some missing part of me had been healed.

'Damn, I thought I was over him!'

I saw the characteristic darting glance away and felt like hitting Alex. I restrained myself though. Save it for when the boy was not half in shock, turning up on my doorstep like an orphaned kitten.

Alex finished undressing. He was a mass of bruises, the match for me in that respect.

"Why did you leave?" I asked. "I would have helped you. Didn't you think I could help?"

Alex glared at me and said, "You know."

"I don't know," I said, using my deepest and sternest voice. I caught Alex's arm, spinning him around when he would have turned away. "Tell me."

"You sent me to Mulder. You didn't care about me. You sent me to Mulder just like they did," Alex shouted. Spots of color appeared in his pale face.

"What the hell do you mean?" I demanded, not having the foggiest idea.

"When they took Scully, I wanted to come clean to you, tell you everything, but when we were at that meeting, you gave me to Mulder...'see that he gets home safely', you said..." Alex explained, eyes blinking back tears. "I knew then you didn't really care about me. I did it. I slept with him. I made him feel better, but I hated you for it. I wouldn't have come back here if I had any pride left."

"Oh Christ," I exclaimed. "That's not what I meant! Do you have any idea what I felt like when I sensed what had happened? I was torn between being a martyr; afraid that I couldn't compete with Mulder and trying to win you back. I didn't think I had a chance; Mulder's more your age and he's damn near as beautiful as you are."

"I didn't want Mulder. They sent me for Mulder, but I couldn't do it. I respected him. I liked him. I didn't want to use him and besides, I wanted you, Walter. I don't care if Mulder is beautiful. To me, you're beautiful. Your brown eyes, your strong hands...the way you used to touch me," Alex said. "But what you said...it's the way that Spender would send me to someone.

'Make him feel at home, Alex'

'See that her needs are all met, Alex'.

When I heard you say that, I thought you were ordering me to his bed just like the old men did. Just like I was your property. Oh, God...I was so sure that you didn't care."

Alex ran his hand through his hair and then he was in my arms, his naked body molding to my suit-clad one. I stroked his back and then lifted his chin to kiss his salty tears away. Alex turned his head, catching the kiss on his mouth, moaning softly as he opened his lips to me. I held onto him, hands remembering his slender body, his soft-skinned round bottom. I felt Alex's leg come up, his crotch grinding against mine, and I pulled him close, ignoring the twinge of pain from my belly and ribs. In a moment, Alex was undressing me, pulling my shirt loose from my trousers, unbuttoning my shirt, his hands flying across me as we continued to devour each other's mouths.

I couldn't resist, didn't want to resist...I kicked out of my shoes as Alex tugged my shirt off and both of us stripped off my trousers and briefs. My lungs labored with lust and my skin felt hot, overly sensitive with my need for this beautiful lost love of mine

"We both need to shower," I commented. I reached for Alex's hands, enfolded the slender fingers and pressed lightly. Alex's eyes fluttered closed and his lips parted. I gave him the expected kiss before leading my lover into the shower.

The water ran pink from the wounded scalp and from the gashed arm. I gently soaped the injuries then decided to just finish the job, slipping the sponge with slow, deliberate enjoyment, tickling the delicate skin under the armpits, tasting the soft fold of flesh to see if it met my specifications. Alex shuddered and glanced down at me, caressed my cheek, rubbing the stubble and looking at me with heavy-lidded eyes. He cupped the back of my head and I noticed that he was trembling from head to foot to the point where he almost fell. I caught him, standing up so quickly that I hit my elbow on the shower wall. I hit the funny bone and cursed at the fresh burst of pain.

"Dizzy?" I asked.

"A little," Alex gasped. He leaned into me, clinging close in that way he had, surrendering into my strength. I wanted to be strong enough to keep him and protect him, but Spender had always been on top of the game.

"We'd better get out," I said. I grabbed a couple towels and dried both of us. I helped Alex to sit on the toilet so I could attend to the arm, closing the gash with a neat row of butterfly bandages. Smiling ruefully, it all came back so easily although Vietnam was more than twenty years past.

When Alex was bandaged, we walked back to my bed, my arm around Alex's waist.

"We'll just rest," I said.

"No, make love to me. Make me yours again," Alex begged as we lowered onto the bed, holding tightly to each other.

There was no resisting him when he was like this, demanding, offering his body as a beautiful altar for my worship, or so I excused my inability to resist. I caressed the quivering flesh that I loved, bent over him to take him in my mouth, just a promise before I moved away to kiss the tender inside of Alex's thighs, tickle the creases, and then scoot up to insert the tip of my tongue into Alex's navel. Alex's hand rested on my head, exerting a discreet amount of pressure. He seldom pushed, but the touch begged for more, reminded me of how much Alex loved this.

My stomach muscles hurt, but it merely slowed me down, as self-restraint would not have done. I knew Alex would start to lose his erection when I pushed into him unless he was a hair away from coming and since this was a moment stolen from time, I wanted us to come as nearly together as we could.

"Ready," Alex said, in a low almost choked voice. I reached into the drawer, taking out the same half used tube of lube we had used the last time that Alex had been with me.

Teasing a finger into my lover as Alex rested his legs on my shoulders, I paused to kiss the sweet salty skin, feeling the flex of the muscles. Time was suspended when we were together. I could lose myself, forget my job, my failures, and my ambitions, forget everything but the love I felt and the passion. I could set my world's boundaries to enclose only the private world of my lover's sighs, his moans, the taste of him, the smell of him, and the way he looked in the throes of feverish love making. It was a universe that had everything I needed, but one that was at siege by reality.

Never mind, for this moment, Alex was here.

It had amused me how some of my past male lovers had put such importance on being on the top or bottom. With Alex and I, we were joined, inseparable, perfectly attuned to each other and it didn't matter how as long as we were together. As we strained toward each other to kiss, I knew there would never be anyone else who could make me feel this way. Despite everything, I had to make it happen. I would give up career, home, and the respect of my fellows to be with Alex. The only thing I would not surrender was honor.

Afterwards, my fingers smoothing sweat-dampened hair, I said, "Now, what are we going to do with you? You can't stay here."

"I want to be with you, Walter, that's all that I know," Alex said. He turned on his side so he could snuggle closer. I felt Alex's hands massaging the back of my neck.

"Soon," I said. "I can't just leave Mulder and Scully hanging. We had an idea for containing Spender. Meanwhile, how active is the consortium in Italy?"

"I think they have an insider at the Vatican, but other than that, they don't bother," Alex replied. "I'm going to get a cloth to clean us up."

I enjoyed the sight of Alex's round ass sashaying across the room. I knew it was a beauty from the first time that I had seen it. Not even a bad suit could conceal the wanton invitation of those fleshy cheeks. I winced as I moved higher on the mound of pillows. Making love to Alex had made me forget about all my aches and pains, but now they were announcing themselves.

I yelled, "Bring the Tylenol Three, Alex."

"Okay, Walt, be right there," Alex called back.

One glass of water and the amber plastic of the prescription bottle occupied one hand and the cloth the other. Alex sat on the edge of the bed and washed my cock with such loving attention that it managed to stir again. I groaned and said, "Enough, are you trying to give me heart failure? Come here and lie down."

The two of us ruefully shared a glass of water to wash down the painkiller. "I didn't think you were paying attention when I tried to teach you how to box. You threw some hard punches," I remarked.

Alex's lips kissed my stomach. "I was afraid you would make them kill you. Cardinal is a stone cold killer. Gets off on it. Unlike Mulder, you don't have anyone looking out for you, Walter."

"Why does Mulder?" I asked.

Alex's expression was evasive. "Spender was fond of his mother."

"That's the entire reason?" I asked.

"I was never exactly his favored son," Alex said.

"I hope that's an expression," I replied. I already felt the warm lethargy of the drugs settling into my body. "I have a friend in Italy who will keep you for me."

The drug bedazzled my eyes and Alex seemed made of ivory and jade in the dim light. Precious. Mine again, the way he always was meant to be. I fell asleep with Alex tightly held in my arms, a smile on both of our lips.

<<<<O>>>>

The Present: Mulder

I wouldn't be living here anymore. It was a strange thought as I cleaned the refrigerator, remembering Frohike or Langly opening it to grab a beer. Langly teasing John Byers over what was allegedly growing on my leftovers. For all the bad memories, I had been happy here at times. I could stay. I knew that Scully would be Scully. She would get over it and, perhaps, she would be secretly relieved that I was the one who called it to an end.

The boxes I had left packed at Scully's apartment would have to wait. Somehow, I had never gotten around to moving the rest of my belongings to her place. After yesterday, that was a moot point. I had hired a moving company to pack up my books and the clutter that accumulated in my life. The only thing I had to do today was secure my personal X-Files, a large collection since my office burned a few years ago. I'd stopped trusting the Hoover then. Frohike was willing to take care of my files for me. He had also volunteered to babysit my 'art' collection. Everything has a price, right?

I had finished taking the boxes to my rental car and came back to give a once over when the phone rang. Scully's voice said, "Mulder, it's me."

"I'm not changing my mind, Scully. I told you the reasons," I said.

"That's hardly why I was calling. John came over and, after we talked about your decision, he told me that Walter hasn't been in to work for a week," Scully said.

A stab of jealousy went through me. "You discussed our relationship with Doggett?" I said.

"What do you expect? He's my friend, Mulder. He kept me going when you were gone. Did you think I'd stop talking to him the minute you came back?" Scully said, with that waspish tone in her voice that said I had overdrawn my credit in the bank of forgiveness.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Right, what about Skinner?" I asked.

Walter's last outburst had driven me away from him. In the back of my head, I knew he and Alex had something going. It wasn't shocking to me, but the intensity of Walter's emotions did stun me.

I'd fooled myself into believing that the rookie kid, who was so gorgeous out of those geek suits, had loved me. Now, I wondered if he had really loved Walter.

Don't get me wrong. I didn't love Alex Krycek. Not even when I thought he was for real. Not even when I slept with him. Made love to him.

Alex was almost the one that I'd fantasized about from the earliest dreams that I remembered.

But he wasn't HIM. I tried to believe that Alex was the one for a while, but I knew I was lying to myself. I knew my soul had a mate. Where was he?

Why did Alex seem so familiar? I supposed I would never know.

Scully said, "Mulder, you have to check on Walter. He won't answer my calls. He wouldn't open the door when Doggett went there. I know the way he feels about you. Go to him."

I went.

Poor Walter... I found him trying to dig Alex up.

My friend had grown gaunt, haggard, gray-faced. His eyes had an expression that you only see on terminal cancer victims, men waiting for execution, and the very old. If I couldn't help him, I didn't think he would have long to live.

Damn Krycek, much as I loathed the man, I'd have dug him up and reanimated him if it would have helped Walter.

I took him home and shoved my friend in the shower and asked him to shave. Let me tell you, he smelled like my old footlocker after basketball season. And they burned that.

While he was sluicing the stink from his hide, I used my minuscule cooking abilities to nuke some soup and burn some toast. Then I sat down and said, "Tell me about Alex. Tell me about the Krycek you knew. I promise you that I won't say anything negative."

Walter wanted to talk. Words spilled out. He'd lied to me when he told me he didn't know Krycek. It never struck me as odd when he said that, but now I realized that Walter made a point of knowing every agent assigned to the Hoover. He didn't have my memory, but he had trained himself to memorize the crucial facts about every man and woman in the field. It wouldn't surprise me if he knew how the janitors voted or the shoe size of the lady that stocked the vending machines.

Head held between those big hands of his, Walter said, "I arranged to be present at the orientations whenever a new agent is assigned. After the briefing, we were in the elevator. Do you remember Holly?"

Ah, yes, the immortal Holly! She wasn't always clumsy, but the results when she was were spectacular.

Walter looked at me and smiled. He said, "She got on the elevator, carrying a jelly doughnut and coffee. I think she was scoping Krycek out instead of watching where she was going. She walked into him. Krycek ended up wearing the doughnut. I could tell he didn't know what to do. It was a choice of going home and changing or walking around with filling on his shirt. I said, 'follow me'. Kim always kept that spray-on stain remover in her desk. I'm not sure if it was for me, her, or you."

"Scully used it more than once too. She kept saying I owed her a shopping trip for dragging her into all those sewers and slimy dens," I said.

"That day, Kim was at the copy center, but she never minded if I opened her emergency drawer," Walter said. A small smile graced his face and he said, "She is the best secretary that I ever had. She keeps first aid supplies in her desk along with a sewing kit, snacks, and extra batteries."

"The jelly had grazed Alex's lapel and hit a homer over his heart. He didn't want to take the shirt off. He stood there dabbing at it, but it was the wrong angle. I swear that I wasn't trying to seduce him. He looked like a gawky kid and it seemed so natural to take the stain remover and help him. I could feel his heart beating and the heat rising from his skin. I glanced at his face; my God, he was beautiful. His eyes were glowing and his lips were parted. He looked so ready to be kissed. I felt my face redden and I thrust the stain remover back at him," Walter said. "About two days later, his car wouldn't start. He had been working late. Some case-report you asked him to complete. I was the only one left to give him a ride home. Neither of us had eaten dinner so it seemed natural to stop. A couple evenings later, I found him working late again and asked him if he would like to have dinner again. We became lovers that night."

He was silent for a while and then, staring into space, began recounting the last happy memory he had of Alex.

<<<<O>>>>

As I spoke I once again lost myself in memories, I had almost forgotten that Mulder was in my home. I looked up at him and he was smiling at me. Babbling to him about my Alex. Probably had not made any sense.

Mulder said, "It sounds as if you really loved him."

"I did," I replied. I looked at my fingernails. There was dirt under them from Alex's grave. "I still do," I admitted.

Mulder patted my arm and said, "You have to let go, Walter."

"Of my life?" I asked.

I imagine he thought that I was exaggerating, but he didn't challenge my words except to say, "It sounds as if the Alex you knew was different from the one that I thought I knew. However, one thing I know about Krycek. He was a fighter. He wouldn't want you to just sit here and waste away. Help me with this, Walter. What can I do to get you through this?"

"Bring him back," I said, "That's the only thing that would help."

<<<<O>>>>

I wondered if it had all been a deliberate set-up, but Walter assured me that Spender had never used it against him. That put rest to the thought. Spender was ruthless. He wouldn't have hesitated to use a homosexual affair against the assistant director.

"I was at a bleak time in my life. Sharon and I had separated. Spender had me by the balls. I felt as if my life and career had come to a dead-end. Alex became my life. I wanted to bag it all, go with him, and I don't know...beach comb in Jamaica," Walter's smile was rueful, but genuine, not forced.

"Alex said that I couldn't do it. That I was the best AD in the FBI. That you needed me. Then he made love to me until I felt as if I was wearing seven league boots," Walter said. "He took care of me. No matter how frustrated and angry I was with my day, the idea that at the end, he would be waiting for me, made it all seem trivial."

I felt reluctant to mention what happened between Alex and me. Walter seemed to believe it was real between the rat bastard and him. I'd felt like a fool taken in by a whore when I found out that he was a traitor. I knew instinctively that he didn't love me, but I thought he couldn't have faked his enthusiastic responses to what we did in bed. No one is that good an actor.

Walter read it on my face. He said, "Those old men in the consortium passed the beautiful young men and women around like candy. Alex was used as a sexual toy, as a reward, as an object. That day when I told him to take you home, he thought I gave him to you. He obeyed, but he was hurt and furious. He lost his trust in me. He told me he was about to confess everything to me, but that changed his mind. I lost him."

I too had wanted to be comforted and Alex was as close to that idea of perfection in my mind as anyone I had ever met. I'd wanted to believe he loved me. I'd even wanted to love him, but there was always the feeling that he was not the one, that there was someone I needed. Inside of my soul, there was an empty cold place as if something was missing.

That was how Walter felt. He had tried so hard to only think about the harm his lover had wreaked on us, but he failed. It seemed to me that I had to find some way to comfort him. Maybe if I could prove that Alex had never loved him? That was an idea, but first I had better get some more information. It was time to profile Alex Krycek. Even dead, he wouldn't release his hold on us.

Walter sat down and slowly his head sank lower until it rested in his large knuckled hands. He ponderously shook his head and then let it fall back against his palms. "I have to know, Mulder. Was it ever as real as it felt? Can you give me that answer? He came to me after I was attacked in the hospital. He said he loved me, that he needed my help. I sent him to a friend in Italy. He was supposed to stay with him until I could resign and join him."

"Walter, come on. You have to think. You sent him to Italy. Did he get there?" I demanded.

Skinner didn't reply. He took the blanket from his shoulders and sat twisting it in his large and powerful hands. His gaze was distracted, faraway.

"Walter?" I prodded, "Did Alex get to Italy after he came to you after he escaped from the car bombing?"

"Yes," Walter replied hesitantly. "Rafe telephoned to say my package had arrived. We were using precautions not speaking openly, as I knew my phone was tapped. Later, when I had a chance to talk to him in person, Rafe said that Alex seemed a normal young man, agitated as anyone might be under the circumstances, but charming and intelligent. A few days after he arrived, Rafe encouraged him to get out, see the sights, and told him about the haunted bridge. I gather Alex had been telling him some Spooky Mulder stories...he really was fond of you."

Wishing my face would stop lighting up with telltale embarrassment, I said, "Maybe."

I hesitated to tell Walter that his lover had been a faithless slut or at least, he had come on to me like one in both Hong Kong and during the Tunguska trip. Even if I excused Alex's seduction of me during our brief partnership as a misunderstanding with Walter, the later episodes did not indicate to me that Alex had any loyalty to Walter.

The truth...my life had been spent looking for it. Craving it. Sacrificing for it. Now, I looked at Walter and I wondered how important it was.

Suddenly, Walter grabbed my hand and said, "Mulder, if anyone can find out what happened in Italy, you can. Find out what happened to Alex to make him turn against me."

His face was so hopeful that I couldn't say 'No'

Perhaps I would find my answers in Italy as well.

<<<<O>>>>

The Present: Alex

I sleep the sleep of the dead, but I thought that I heard Walter's voice and Mulder's. They argued and then they went away.

I wished I could see Walter...I wish I could move from this cold, dark place, but I can't. My mind drifted to a time where things might have gone differently.

It was after I escaped from the car bomb. Walter sent me to Italy to wait for him...

The Past: Alex on his way to Italy

Walter's kisses seemed to still burn on my lips, my forehead, and my cheeks as I leaned into the window, clutching his outsized leather jacket around me. My eyes were half closed and they ached with unshed tears. I'd thought that I was past that; that I had lost the ability to cry long ago.

By the time that I was assigned to the FBI academy, I could hardly remember a life where I'd had any freedom or even where I was treated as a human being instead of as a mindless pawn. My body was a reward given to Spender's allies. My mind was kept occupied with Spender's schemes or with the avoidance of pain.

Despite the pressure of keeping up the academy standards while still running errands for that bastard, Spender, it had been the best time in my adult life. Spender had limited choices for punishing me. The gym and the army style lavatories made sure of that. I was treated just as any other FBI candidate. Some of the other trainees complained of the strict regime. I found it so slack that it shocked me at times. The margin of accepted errors was so wide as to be sloppy and no one suffered real consequences. It was paradise compared to living either with Spender or with whatever consortium bigwig that wanted a live-in toy and had done a favor for the man.

After I graduated, meeting Walter and being Mulder's partner had made the academy pale. Hell, even when I'd thought that Walter had passed me off to Mulder like a boring harem boy, things hadn't been that bad. Mulder had proved to be a wickedly inventive lover, although nowhere near as tender as Walter was.

What an idiot I'd been to think Walter would do that do me...

If only I'd asked...

With one stupid misunderstanding, I had thrown away my chance for a normal existence. I was wrong to take this offer. I should just run and hide someplace, making use of the DAT tape to protect myself, maybe even bring the bastards down.

Yet, Walter said that he needed me. I believed him if only because it was what I wanted to believe. Despite the age difference and everything that stood between us, we needed each other. I knew that I could make Walter happy and that my lover would have few regrets, giving up the job that made him a target for the consortium. We could help Mulder and Scully from the outside.

The first thing that I planned to do was to force Mulder to understand that I had not killed Bill Mulder. Yes, I was there that night - had gone to warn the man and Cardinal had pegged a shot through the open window. I had barely escaped with my life, lying to Cardinal about what I was doing there. Clearly, I hadn't been as persuasive as I'd imagined.

How the hell did Mulder know I was there? Perhaps there was something genuinely spooky about the man. I found it amusing that Mulder - who spent his adult life chasing the unusual and the supernatural - was an X-File himself. I rubbed my forehead and then my eyes before looking about to catch the attention of the flight attendant. I was still exhausted from the strain of the last few months. Walter and I had spent the last three days mostly in bed. Fun, but not restful.

Smiling a 'thank you' at the perky woman with the ginger colored hair, I bunched the miniature pillow under my head and turned to the side, nose half buried in Walter's jacket, questing for his beloved familiar smell.

Soon.

Walter would join me eventually, and in the meantime, I'd be safe in Italy with his friend, Rafe de Piro, who was working as the caretaker for nearby Castello di Bracciano.

"Think of it as a vacation," Walter had said. "Kick back, catch some sun, drink some wine, and think of me."

Perhaps. I snuggled deeper into the jacket and slept away the remainder of the flight.

A few hours later I was blinking into the bright sun of Bracciano, Italy. It was very warm and I had to take the jacket off. A tall man with bronzed skin bounded toward me. "Welcome to Bracciano! You have to be Alex. Walter described you very well."

Rafe de Piro had the most electric blue eyes that I'd ever seen. His hair was black, glossy as raven's wings and hung down to his shoulders in ringlets. He had a well-groomed mustache and beard, looking like fuller faced version of Errol Flynn. I couldn't help myself, I wondered jealously exactly how close Walter and this man had been in Vietnam.

"You must be tired. Do you need anything from town? No? Then we will be on our way," de Piro said. "Walter will never forgive me if anything happens to you."

Glancing at the good-looking man who had been in Walter's unit in Vietnam, I wondered what Walter had said to explain why his lover needed to hide.

The small town passed by in a blur of modern and ancient styles of architecture. The countryside beyond was dominated by vineyards and by the crumpling bulk of the castle itself. Something about the place made me shiver. I was glad that de Piro stayed at the gamekeeper's cottage and not at the actual castle. I didn't think that I would be able to sleep in that ancient place. Although it didn't appear as I expected, no gray grim stone turrets that I could see, it still made me shiver for some reason. "How old is the castle?" I asked.

"Fifteenth century," de Piro answered.

"Old," I said. I shivered as I looked at it. It made me feel cold inside; dwarfed and enfeebled by time and presence, yet it somehow seemed very familiar.

When I closed my eyes for a moment, I suddenly saw myself running barefoot in a field, chasing after a lean, brown boy who was my exact double.

<<<<O>>>>

Centuries Past: Alessio (Alex's past incarnation)

"Alessandro, Alessandro, wait up for me!" I yelled.

"Alessio, you slow poke, hurry up! Legs of turtle, younger brother!" my brother yelled back. His voice was deeper than mine. We were both fifteen, but he seemed to be older in his nature.

I was aware of my happiness, of a coin in my purse, of the perfect day, and my mind was dancing with the vision of a fair in the village green. I wanted to buy a green ribbon for mama. Later, I would spend the day with Gualtiero, the blacksmith's brawny son.

I had just seen him yesterday, but he was working and did not have time to visit. I loved to watch him work, his bare arms rippling and glossy with sweat as he pounded out shoes or worked on a knife. His forehead would crease with concentration and his brown eyes would be intent on his work. I think Gualtiero was beautiful like that. How I loved to him working at the forge, his strong body lit by the flames of the brazier. Gualtierio made me feel weak in the knees.

Knowing that today, Gualtierio was as free as I was; my feet sped nearly as fast as my twin, Alessandro could run. Gualtiero and I could spend the entire day together. I knew I wanted him to kiss me. I knew that the church condemned what I wanted, but I didn't care. If God didn't want me to love Gualtierio then he shouldn't have made me the way I was.

I hadn't even told Alessandro about the way I felt. I know that it thrilled me to watch those brawny, broad shoulders as he struck the hammer or pumped the hearth hotter. The scent of Gualtiero made me drunk as if he was strong wine. I knew and delighted that he felt the same. I was determined that soon, maybe even today, we would lie together and express the feelings in our hearts.

My brother laughed at me for having what he considered such a plain and simple-minded friend. Alessandro was wrong. Gualtiero was simply not the talkative sort. He was a watcher and a thinker. Why, he knew more about what was going on in the village than even Alessandro.

As I raced across the road, I stumbled and when I looked up, there were horses galloping toward me. The big war-horses didn't falter as they flew at me; after all, they were trained to run men down on the battlefield. I almost made it, but Carlo's horse bumped me. As I fell, a hoof grazed my head.

There were a few glimpses after that, my mother weeping. Alessandro's face twisted in anger. Most of all, I remembered my Gualtiero hovering over me, his face filled with grief.

I remembered reaching out my arms and saying, "Kiss me one time, Gualtiero, I will come back to you. I will."

First kiss and last...my breath faded and...

<<<<O>>>>

The Past: Alex in Italy

I woke from the daydream with a scream of terror.

"Are you all right?" de Piro asked anxiously, his right hand resting on my shoulder.

"A nightmare," I answered. I shivered again. How vivid and real it had seemed. I had to reach my hand up stealthily to see if my head was swollen and bloody as it had been in my last vision. My fingers came away clean so it was merely a frightening dream. I sighed, wondering from where the images had come. Perhaps, that old story my aunts had discussed one day when I was hiding in the hall closet, playing spy.

I had learned that I had a twin, a beautiful and healthy-appearing identical brother, who had faded by the day, until, at three months of age; he had died in his crib. No wonder mother clung so close to me before Spender took me from her.

"This is sunny Italy. Nightmares aren't allowed here," de Piro said.

"I wish," I replied.

The cottage was nearly as ancient as the castle, but it was a friendly appearing place with white washed walls and a red tile roof. There were fragrant gardens on either side of the walkway with bees buzzing in a charming manner. I stopped a moment to breathe in the sharp, clean odors. I could smell heather and thyme. The smells seemed to evoke strong images, as if a memory was stirring, but I couldn't recall why that was.

"I grow medicinal herbs," de Piro said. "A lot safer hobby than my old one. Hell, I even had a pot patch in 'Nam. I was lucky that I didn't get my ass blown off tending it. Yes, Walter used to be a lively fellow...I was surprised he became a cop and then an FBI agent, although he was always the responsible sort."

"You must have been fond of him," I said, fishing for details. I wondered where Walter had learned to please a man so well.

The sapphire eyes crinkled, as de Piro smiled said, "Think of it as seasoning Walter for you. Don't worry, Alex. I have a partner. He's a professor and is away at a conference right now."

Surprise, I could still blush. I said, "I wasn't..." My words choked off in embarrassment.

"You were, but I understand," de Piro assured. He grinned. He had good teeth, very white and a brilliant smile.

Yawning despite my nap, I adjusted my suitcase and followed de Piro into the house. I wished I could call Walter, but that was a bad idea. Walter's phone was tapped and it would defeat the entire purpose to contact him.

The next two days were spent sleeping, reading in the room with the floor-to-ceiling shelves, interspersed with chess games and the bare minimal workouts to keep in shape.

By the third day, I needed to go out. I was bored and becoming claustrophobic.

"Stay away from the cliffs," de Piro warned. "The edges are treacherous."

With a swift smile, I said, "I will. I think I'll walk in the fields anyway. I saw some ruins on my way in. Maybe I'll play amateur archeologist."

de Piro joked, "If you get into town, maybe you can investigate the ghost like that Mulder fellow that Walter complains about. The local haunt is a one-armed fellow who appears hanging from a bridge."

I grinned at that thought. It would be a good joke on Mulder to investigate a ghost and send him the file. Maybe I would investigate this unruly spirit.

However, first, I wanted to explore the ruins of the cottage.

There was nothing much left of the hut that had caught my eye. A crumbling stone hearth showed that it had belonged to comparatively well-to-do peasants. When I moved some clods of earth, a few fragments of pottery and metal were revealed.

Beneath an ancient olive tree, there was a tiny graveyard with deep sunken stones, the largest monument was marble and I could trace some of the letters, "Ale..."

Someone had hacked off the rest viciously. I frowned. How could someone have hated whomever lay here so much as to violate his or her grave? The three other stones were much more humble. Tracing the letters, I was troubled to find that this stone also began with an 'a' and an 'l'. It made me uneasy. As I touched the stone, I felt warm and became drowsy. I didn't want to sleep on a grave, but there was a grassy knoll and I made a pillow of my knapsack after taking out the lunch that de Piro had insisted I bring.

I knew I was asleep and dreaming. I saw myself floating over a body.

Everything seemed to have a silvery light about it as if I was seeing by moonlight. I sensed my body was no longer human. I was little more solid than air, almost cloud like. My pale white hand hovered over the sleeping face of a man who looked amazingly like me. Tears ran from the matted lashes and strong emotion had reddened the complexion.

"Alessandro, Alessandro, go back. Try again," my image whispered, only I knew my name had not been that.

Alessio, my name had been Alessio, and I had unfinished business on Earth. I could not rejoin the circle until it was completed. The man I watched over walked a dark path...and I loved him, my brother, my twin, my dark soul, Alessandro...

<<<<O>>>>

Centuries Past: Alessandro (Twin Brother of Alessio - Alex's past incarnation)

"Alessandro? Where are you, love?" the voice rippled like sun dapples on the water.

"Here, here in the garden, feeding the swans," Alessandro replied. He looked up and saw Guglielmo leaning down from the window, his narrow ass perched on the sill. He smiled up and said, "Come down and we'll go to the tavern for a drink."

Ah, hard to resist calling him 'love' but the elder La Marca always kept an eagle eye on his son. The old man and his captain of the guards were truly wicked. They saw Guglielmo not as himself but as a walking seed bearer for the future. He'd been married once already to a truly unpleasant woman by the name of Agata Da Firenze. Alessandro had only met her once, but a more sharp faced and bitter harridan he never hoped to meet. Her death in childbirth seemed genuinely mourned by her husband, but that was Guglielmo's nature. He was a creature of ready affections and deep feelings.

"I never meant to fall in love," Alessandro thought. 'How strange to find my heart held captive by this man, this elegant fop, whose military training was so amiss that he had been brought in to teach him remedial swordsmanship.'

From the dark castle, Guglielmo came running... laughing eyed man that he was, white shirt out of his trousers and his golden chest hairs revealed by his state of semi-dress. The sight of him made Alessandro's cock stir and he thought immediately of the cottage left unoccupied by the runaway peasants. He had visited late last night to lay fresh herbs about on the rushes of the bed, leaving a soft blanket and the sweet-smelling pot of ointment in hopeful readiness. He was mad for the taste of his lover. Always before, he had been willing to take a lover, male or female, but never had he been willing to accept a man's organ inside his body until now. With Guglielmo, it didn't matter. The very touch of him was enough to make Alessandro's insides burn like fire.

Gualtiero's cautions were thrown to the wind. The master of arms was not Alessandro's type at all. He really believed the man was mad about him to be so jealous. Beauty called to beauty and Alessandro loved his noble student with a passion deeper than life itself. If only the old don would die. Surely if Guglielmo was the lord of the castle, he could make Alessandro his captain of the guards, banning the evil Carlo from the environs. Alessandro longed for this to happen. His patron was no decent man. He had sold his daughters all to terrible marriages, aging disease ridden husbands taking their sweet flesh to warm their dying beds. Nothing mattered to the man but money and his family glory. He was a man of no affections and it was said that his wife, Cristina, had been unfaithful with Carlo, although no one said it to his ear.

Never matter, it was summer; his beautiful lover and he chose their mounts and laughing made their way from the castle. As soon as they were clear of the busy main road, they spurred their horses faster to enjoy the cooling wind.

Guglielmo grabbed him and teased his lips with a kiss before they had even turned the horses out to graze. His hand holding both reins, Alessandro drank his beloved's lips like wine. Hurriedly they freed the mounts from the saddles and left the faithful geldings to enjoy their freedom anon.

At last, they arrived at the deserted cottage and entered its cool interior. It was the least productive field in the master's domain and with so many peasants running away to be soldiers, he had no family to place on the tillage. The cottage had been ill placed for winter and was quite cool even in today's heat.

"I will always love you. Always!" Guglielmo promised. "Don't ever leave me," he pleaded.

And Alessandro knew that not even the devil himself could keep them apart.

Centuries Past: Alessio's Ghost

Someone entered the stable and woke my brother. It was my Gualtiero, who had grown into the stalwart man that his teenage huskiness had promised. His hair was thinning, but his deer-like eyes were the same rich, tender brown as ever.

"Alessandro, wake up. I brought the coins and some food," Gualtiero said.

My brother sat up and wiped his face. He asked, "Are they still looking for me?"

"Yes, caro," Gualtiero said. He squatted on the dirt floor and settled the sack between his feet. "I had an idea. I've hired a fisherman to take you across the lake."

"Did you take my message to Guglielmo?" Alessandro asked.

"The servant turned me away. He said that Guglielmo is celebrating his marriage and had no time for peasants," Gualtiero said.

My brother bit his lip and tossed his hair back in that quick gesture of frustration that our family and friends knew preceded a tantrum. Mama always said that Alessandro had the brains and the temper while I had the kind heart and the patience. I resented that a little. Often, I had my own ideas, but my slightly older twin always spoke his mind first so it seemed pointless to put forth my thoughts after that. I loved my twin dearly, but sometimes had found him very annoying.

"You could have forced your way into the castle. I know my beloved would come to me if he could," Alessandro said.

Gualtiero patted Alessandro's arm to comfort him, but Alessandro pulled away and said, "Just remember, I am not Alessio. Whatever he saw in you, I don't see it."

"I know very well that you are not Alessio," Gualtiero said steadily. He frowned and rubbed his eyes, which lately had been afflicted by dimming vision.

"It was not my fault he died. It was Carlo de Artise, the bastard. He is the architect of my troubles," Alessandro said. "I vowed on my brother's grave that I would avenge him. I still intend to do it."

Ah, my foolish brother...

I didn't desire revenge. My brother's obsession bound me to earth and prevented me from being born again. My sleepless spirit watched over him...

If it were not for Alessandro's misery, I wouldn't have minded so much. I liked to hover near my beloved Gualtiero. How I longed to be able to speak to him. Many times when my beloved slept, I would caress his forehead with ghostly fingers, kiss the smooth pate being revealed by his receding hairline, and whisper of my love in the large ears that I had once playfully tugged.

Gualtiero replied, "Alessio was a gentle soul, Alessandro. I think he would have spurned your revenge."

"Be that as it may," Alessandro replied, "and now Carlo has arranged this foolish marriage to the red headed milksop of a girl. Have you seen her? She's as wan as tallow and her hair is redder for application of henna, I believe."

"He enjoys her company," Gualtiero replied. "She is a very intelligent woman. Let him have the comfort of liking the woman his father is forcing him to marry. He can't marry you, Alessandro, although I am sure he loves you."

"And you hang about, hoping to lie with me as you were never able to lie with my brother," Alessandro accused.

"I help you because he loved you," Gualtiero said. "That's all. Can't you see past your own nose? I have suffered too, but I don't go about raving and crying. I trust that when I leave this world that I will see my pretty Alessio if God has any mercy."

"God has no mercy," Alessandro replied, taking up the purse and the sack that Gualtiero gave to him. "Take me to your fisherman."

"All right, I've have had the scribe write a letter of introduction for you. Alfredo de Manara will be glad to have such a skilled officer at his disposal," Gualtiero said.

"I don't know if I want to work as a soldier anymore," Alessandro said, "Perhaps, I'll become a highway man and rob Carlo de Artise and the old Duke until they finally suffer. All they love is ducats so that is my only way to hurt them."

"Don't say such things, Alessandro. Have patience. The duke was old even when Guglielmo was born. Wait, and your lover will the one making decisions," Gualtiero advised. "No one in town really believes you took that purse. They know you are a man of honor and no thief. When the old men die, you can return."

"We'll see," Alessandro said.

I hated leaving Gualtiero, but it was not he that bound my spirit to earth. It was my brother who would not let me rest with his passion to revenge my death and my fear that something terrible would happen to him. I followed my brother to his new employment and hoped for the best.

Perhaps, Alessandro would meet someone new and be content. I believed that he loved Guglielmo but I hoped that he would settle down with some lesser love and be content. I wanted to move on. My life had been too short and though I hope to be with Gualtiero again, I would gladly have been born again. Maybe Gualtiero wouldn't mind a younger lover if I could be born again in his lifetime...

My brother was a brilliant soldier. He quickly rose in favor with his employer, the Duc de Liguria. The half-English Duke found him amusing and skillful. He treated him almost as a son and gave him the respect that Alessandro craved.

I found that my time on Earth might be growing short after all. My ties to this existence faded as my brother thought of me and of revenge less often.

However, I had not faded away entirely when the Duke declared war on his neighbor. It was a foolish matter involving a vineyard that was on the edge of the two dukedoms. A stream defined the edge of the property, but an earthquake changed the course of the water. It was an idiotic argument, but men were idiots.

That day, my brother was ready for battle. He had a new horse and new armor, looking like a king's son instead of a mercenary. His teeth, so white that men and women marveled, glinted as he grinned at the Duke.

I wanted to caution him. It wasn't wise to ride a horse that he didn't know into battle. However, he couldn't hear me. Alas, I doubt my brother would have listened even had he heard me.

The clash of metal sounded below me as I floating above the battlefield. Beneath me, men were fighting fiercely. It was hard to resist following the spirits rising from the scene as they passed beyond to rest a while before being reborn.

There was a scream that drew me down closer to the battle; I felt a moan rise from my ghostly essence as I realized that Alessandro had been unhorsed by his new mount and was gravely wounded. Blood streamed from an arm that dangled by only a few tendons. Somehow, Alessandro remained conscious, screaming at his men to let him die. However, he was a well-loved leader and they bore him off the field to the gore-splattered tent of the barber-surgeon.

A single swipe of a butcher's knife severed the remaining muscles. The barber had two brawny men sit on Alessandro as he took a glowing ax from a charcoal brazier. The cherry-red metal was laid on the gushing wound and, even in this dreaming and ghostly state, I nearly fainted at the smell of burning meat.

My brother could finally see me in the weeks that followed his terrible injury. As he raved with fever and the anguish of his violated beauty, I tried to comfort Alessandro, but it was no use. My brother screamed repeatedly that now Guglielmo would never love him. It was that fact, and not the amputation, that made his employer dismiss him.

My spirit followed my brother. Alessandro at first drank away the gold that the duke handed him to assuage his guilt. My brother had been wounded when he loyally protected the duke from the master swordsman, Lorenz Carandini. His master and himself had been both been unhorsed...the victim of the duke's vain choice of riding matching war horses into battle.

Alessandro's arm had blocked the sword strike that would have killed his employer. Even that did not keep the duke's loyalty after he heard my brother's ravings. The duke was ashamed of having a lover of men in his employ.

The pouch of gold did not comfort Alessandro for being crippled and for being driven away from his place of honor by the scorn shown him when his secret vice was revealed.

I think that the loss of honor started him on the bitter road that he walked afterwards.

<<<<O>>>>

The Past: Alex In Italy (after Paperclip)

I woke startled, my own screams chilling me. As I'd slept, a mist had crept over me. I shivered with cold and longed to be with people. I went to Bracciano for a drink.

As I passed by the bridge, I saw, as if playing on some ghostly screen, men dragging a struggling man to the bridge. I felt compelled to stop them. Instead, I felt ice cold and I passed through the dark forms. In the distance, I saw Spender, but a Spender dressed in ornate black clothing, which was gusseted and gashed to reveal the linen shirt beneath the velvet and leather. The man laughed wildly and spat on the hanged man.

I rushed to the bridge, but the hanged man had disappeared. Sparks shot through my arm and I turned to face the hollow-eyed ghost of the man that I once knew as my brother.

"Sweet, sweet Alessio, so you have been born again in a form nearly as pretty as the one we wore so long ago. Help me, brother, help me," the ghost implored.

Wave after wave of fear shivered through me and I knew that I had to get away. I turned to run on shaking legs, but as I did, the ghost embraced me and forced ethereal lips as cold as space, to my mouth. The kiss drank me deep and I slipped to the cobblestones in a faint.

When I woke, I was a prisoner in my own body.

Trapped, I had no choice except to ride along as a passenger, screaming at the malevolent spirit that had taken over my life. I was so ashamed when he robbed Rafe and used the money to leave Italy.

I tried to tell Alessandro why the DAT tape was important, but all he understood was that it was valuable. He rifled through my memories as if I were a book free for him to read. When he found the memories of Spender and Mulder, I was doubly lost. He saw the DAT tape as a way to get back at Spender and to bring Mulder to him.

Alessandro used our body ruthlessly, using amphetamines like they were candy in order to keep alert in dangerous Hong Kong. He had no problem seducing men and women to get his way.

The only thing I could do was try to wall myself away from the horror. I lost myself in memories of Walter, ignoring Alessandro's mockery.

It was impossible not to notice when Alessandro succeeded in contacting Mulder. My former partner hated me...

But Alessandro soaked up his blows as if they were kisses. I could tell Mulder was beginning to remember. He smelled of desire. He was confused by his reactions, wanting to hate me, but I knew he could sense that I had changed. Alessandro called to him, compelled him.

If there had been more time...

Alessandro might have seduced his lover. Perhaps his happiness would have been enough to tip the balance and he would have remembered that there was more to life than hatred and revenge.

The alien took care of that. Alessio's brother had never believed in ghosts or fairies. The aliens were just more of that to him. He soon discovered that he was very wrong...

We met the alien in Hong Kong. It was ironic that he who possessed me was possessed in turn. Of course, he left me to deal with it...

<<<<O>>>>

I woke in darkness. For a while, there was a light, but after a few hours it flickered, it dimmed, it went out.

I would have been grateful for Alessandro's company, but he was gone. I couldn't feel him inside me.

The Oilien was also gone. At least, I would die as myself.

At first, I kept my wits about me, checking for a way out, scrambling around on the floor as I searched for something with which to pick the lock. There was nothing.

I lost it for a while, pounding on the door, screaming for help until I had no voice left. My hands were bloody from abraded flesh where I had tried to beat through steel with my fragile flesh. My fingers bled from broken nails with which I had scrabbled endlessly at the door.

When I woke, I wasn't sure where I was. The last thing I remembered was Alessandro being sent to wash his face...

My body under Alessandro's control had walked into the men's room. I remember him looking up as he urinated and his embarrassed laugh as he saw a woman standing next to him. Then he had been terrified as inhuman strength plucked him up, pinned him to the wall, and kissed him.

Alessandro lasted only a second before he seemed to vanish from my body, leaving me to deal with the Oilien and with Mulder. The alien's thoughts slithered within me; my conscious mind fled in terror. I remembered nothing more until I woke here.

The cold sapped my strength. I shook uncontrollably and tears seeped from my eyes. I wiped at them, feeling the slime of leftover oil. I would have screamed again, but my throat is too raw. Nothing emerges but a rasp.

Times passed. I was aware of my thirst and the cold. My mouth was too dry to even lick my lips...not that I wanted to do that. I could taste the oil still. I wished I could at least die without the feel of that stuff on my skin.

As I huddled near the door, I thought about Walter. I was going to die here and he would never know what happened to me. For the rest of his life, he would believe I had used him. That I had never loved him. That was the worst part of dying...

I woke from a deep sleep at a sound.

Even if it were Spender, I would be happy. Even if it were Cardinal sent to execute me, I would be grateful. At least, it would be over.

The door pushed against me. I heard a voice yell, "Move away from the door."

My body moved without conscious thought. I knew that voice and joy flooded me.

Walter was surrounded by light. To my feverish brain, that seemed correct. He was my archangel, my beautiful warrior.

My voice was entirely gone, but I didn't need it to tell Walter how I felt. I looked up into his shining face and then I pressed my filthy forehead to his denim-clad legs.

"How the hell did Mulder know you were here?" Walter growled. "The man's uncanny at times."

The last thing I wanted to hear about was Mulder when my love had come to save me. I clung to him, fighting the darkness that pulled me down.

Walter knelt and his fingertips lifted my chin up. "What am I going to do with you?"

Waiting for his judgment, I wouldn't have pleaded even had I been able. I was his to kill. The only thing I would have asked had I been able to speak was that he not leave me here. Even my sins had not earned that fate.

His large thumb traced the path of my tears. He remarked gruffly, "Poor bastard, it's one thing after another. A sane man would just give up."

At that point, he lifted me to my feet and he put my arm over his shoulder. "Let's get you out of here."

"Don't pass out on me. I'm not carrying you out of here," Walter threatened.

That I believed and I struggled to help him, even though my feet felt as if they weighed a ton apiece. As I moved, needles of pain strobed through me as my circulation was restored. By the time, we emerged from the silo; my body wasn't numb any more. I could feel every ache and bruise from the beatings I had endured.

When I saw the dawn-lit sky over my head, I felt as if I was emerging from hell. Walter left me on the ground for a moment as he rummaged in the trunk. He covered the seat with a tarp before putting me inside.

"What the hell is this stuff?" Walter wondered aloud as he wiped my face.

I couldn't tell him. I just hoped that all that was left was oil. I felt as if I had been raped twice over. Once by the spirit of my former brother and again by the Oilien. The filth on my body made me cringe and I was afraid that it would make Walter sick.

My concern fled as Walter held a bottle of water to my lips. I wanted to drink it all, but he only let me have a sip before taking away. My eyes must have reproached him as he said, "It isn't torture. I don't think you need to puke on top of whatever else has happened to you."

I leaned back, savoring the feeling of warmth as the car heater efficiently wafted hot air over me. My eyes closed, I reached blindly across the car, anchoring myself to Walter's leg.

Home, safety...Walter was the only thing that meant anything to me. I wanted to believe that my ordeal was over. I didn't care if Spender came to kill me if only I could die with Walter nearby and he was spared. I couldn't be the death of him; Walter was needed. His life meant something, as my wasted life did not.

Walter had a motel room ready. Of course, he did. There was a bag of groceries on the counter of the kitchenette. He set me on a stool and held me braced as he pulled out a garbage bag. Grimacing he peeled the soiled clothing from my body. At some point, I had pissed myself and I stank so badly I could barely stand myself. Poor Walter gagged a couple times as he stripped me. He used up two rolls of paper towels, getting the worst part of the oil off my skin.

It still took three tubs full of hot water to leave me clean. By the second tub, Walter had given up and stripped to his skin so I had something to keep me very warm. I felt almost raw, but I was ecstatic to have the oil gone from me.

Walter fed me some broth and had me sip some more water. I was weak and uncoordinated as an infant, but not so weak that Walter's body, clad only in a towel, couldn't arouse me. He had wrapped me in a blanket and propped against his strong shoulder as he fed me. I drank him in as my sustenance. His touch invigorated me.

When he put me in the bed, I clung to him until he lay down with me. Propped on one arm, he stared down at me until he sighed, leaned down, and kissed the breath from me.

"Want you," I croaked.

"You're not strong enough," Walter replied, although I could feel he was hard.

"Please," I begged. My hand found his erection and enclosed it, coaxing.

"Damn," Walter said. He kissed me again more fervently. His mouth devoured me. Warmth surrounded me. He always made me feel as if I had come from the storm to the calm harbor of his love. That was all I ever wanted for as long as I could remember - to be safe and loved.

I heard him sob as he marked my neck. "Alex, Alex," he murmured.

My mute answer was to open myself to him. I wanted to feel him inside me. I wanted to be claimed by him. He left me for a moment to find condoms and lubricant...I shivered. So cold without him, but it wasn't long before he came back. He covered me, surrounded me. I couldn't get enough of him. He couldn't get inside me soon enough. I pushed against him so hard that I think it hurt him as well as me, but the burn told me that I was alive. The pain was nothing except knowing that I would still have some reminder of him even if he cast me away as soon as he finished.

I could feel his hands tremble as they explored me. I strained upward to kiss him. His eyes pulled me into him. Even as he strained against me, I held back. I didn't want it to be over and to be left alone. He was equally determined to make this last, but we were only human.

That night, we were like incendiary devices. We made love until we were exhausted. Even then, we did not let go of each other.

Walter stared down at me and said, "Never leave me again, Alex."

"Don't let them take me," I begged.

I'm sure he thought I meant Spender's men, but that was not what I feared. I could feel Alessandro stirring awake. I managed to push him away for that moment, but I didn't know if I was strong enough to resist permanently. I filled my thoughts with the Oilien as if it were still in me. I felt Alessandro withdraw, but he was still inside of me. I wanted to fight him, but I didn't know how!

The next two days were spent making love. At odd moments, Alessandro popped forward. I would shove him back. He didn't like hanging around when Walter made love to me, but even in our passion, that could not be for always. I'm sure that my lover wondered at my desperation, but he rose to meet my need time and again.

I wouldn't let him leave me. We had food sent into the room, bribing clerks to fetch us what we needed. Finally, Walter said it was time to leave. He was afraid that Spender would track us down and had to get me some traveling clothes.

While he was gone, Alessandro pushed back into my mind. He laughed inside my head as he took me. I was shoved back to my dreams and he waited for Walter.

The bastard kissed my lover when he returned, but the moment Walter turned his back, Alessandro hit him on the head and knocked him out, taking the clothes, his money, and the car. I thought he would head for Mulder, but instead he took me back to Spender. I thought he was insane to do that, but his hatred for Carlo de Artise drove him. He had recognized the man who had framed him as a thief, separated him from his lover, and ultimately took his life. Driven by revenge, Alessandro meant to punish this new incarnation of his old enemy for all the crimes of past and present life.

I wasn't sure what Alessandro intended, but whatever it was, he was twisting Spender around his fingers, making him believe that his former employee was willing to do anything to get back in his favor.

My former brother was driven by his hatred. Even his love for Mulder, his Guglielmo, was overpowered by his darker emotions. The thread of his life carried us back to Mulder and once more to my Walter...

A Walter who beat me and chained me in the cold...who hated me for fooling him again.

Alessandro, of course, left me to endure the exposure. In the middle of the night, Walter came out to bring me a blanket. I managed to kiss him. He stared at me and begged me to explain. He brought me inside, but soon as I was warm, my demon took me over and spat his hatred out at my lover. I would rather have died than see the hurt and betrayal on Walter's face...

When the Russian woodsmen cut off our arm, my demon left me again to deal with my wounded body, but I won that battle. I drifted on heroin dreams until I overdosed. That bastard Alessandro dragged our body back to life and took over. He adapted quickly to the loss of his arm. It was so much easier now, he told me in one of our brief chats inside our mutual skull. The modern prosthesis was much more comfortable and usable.

I remember the day Spender called us to his headquarters. He tossed a palm pilot at us and said, "Mr. Skinner is becoming recalcitrant. Take care of it."

As usual, Spender wanted to be coaxed for information. He liked the world to play Watson to his Holmes. The shit-head didn't seem to realize he was neither. That he was Moriarty.

Alessandro worked him as Spender thought he was working me. I could feel the gloating in my demon's mind as he heard about the nanobytes. He could see the applications instantly.

I wasn't strong enough to stop him from infecting my lover, but I let him know that I was strong enough to end our life if he didn't bring my beloved back. He complied as much because it amused him to make Walter dance on his string as because he believed me.

I never understood why he hated Walter unless it was jealousy. The love I bore for Gualtiero was strong and true, lasting many lifetimes. After Alessandro died, I knew I...Alessio had been released from Earth. I had tried to reach the unquiet spirit of my brother, but he could not hear me. When Gualtiero died, Alessio's spirit could not bear to linger. He followed him and, as is the way of things, we were reborn, finding each other again, always. Love never dies.

Eventually, I was born. Alex...so much like the man that Alessio would have become that surely Gualtiero's spirit inside Walter must have rejoiced.

Perhaps, Alessandro begrudged that happiness. He never had respect for his brother's lover, never thought he was good enough. How that turned to his hateful spite, I didn't know save that Alessandro had become an evil spirit in his long centuries of lonely haunting.

However, he brought Walter back, making a puppet out of him. My lover would not have thanked me for that, but the hope wouldn't die in me that somehow we could fix this. I needed to believe we still had a chance.

But all my chances had run out. I lay beneath the turf, dead and alive. Soon I would be merely dead. I was not frightened, but for my lover. My brave Walter had suffered enough. My only comfort was that Alessandro was as trapped as I was, here in this grave.

<<<<O>>>>

The Present: Walter

I'd promised Mulder that I would look after myself and take care of Scully. Not that I felt that she needed it. The woman was tough and resilient. Doggett and Reyes seemed devoted to her and I doubted she needed me at all.

Still, it felt good to be back at work, to be clean, and doing something besides trying to burn the memory of Alex out of my body with bad booze.

I think I surprised Kim by thanking her for contacting Scully and Mulder about me. Poor Kim, no one told her that her hard-working serious boss would go off the deep end because of love and loss.

After work, I automatically went to the liquor cabinet, but I stopped myself with my hand on the Southern Comfort that I had been drinking. I put it back, made myself a sandwich and a salad, and sat down to read myself to sleep.

I hoped I would dream about Alex...

<<<<O>>>>

The Present: Mulder in Italy

Bracciano, Italy was terra cotta, cheerful and warmly colored. It was hard to imagine anything evil having ever taken place here. I had arrived by plane and asked to be dropped in the center of the town. I could see encroachments of modern buildings, but for the most part, it was a hodgepodge of styles blending from medieval to renaissance times.

As I walked into the older part of town near the Chiesa Santa Maria Novella, I was acutely conscious of the feeling of having been here before. The cobblestone road felt familiar and parts of the skyline did as well. As I approached a bridge, I felt cold and dizzy and as I reeled, I saw a man dangling by his neck from one of the arched supports. Immediately, I felt despair settle over me, gripping me to the depths of my soul.

"Signore, signore, siete tutta la destra,?" a voice asked.

I looked back at a round face, plump, pretty and wholesome. I said, "Fine, I'm not used to the sun." I gripped the strong arm that was offered to me. The woman seemed to understand me, but I asked to be sure, "Do you understand English?"

The woman nodded and said, "Even as it is spoken by Americans."

"This bridge, did something happen at this bridge? A hanging?" I asked.

"Yes, you must have heard our highwayman legend," she said, guiding me to one side of the sidewalk to a bench. She crossed herself and said, "I've never seen him, but many people have. He was a soldier, a hero, but had lost an arm in battle and came on hard times. He became an outlaw and took great joy in robbing the Duke's couriers. Some say he was in love with the duke's daughter and that he came to the city only to find she was married and with child. He hung himself from despair and his body was buried at the crossroads. He appears at midnight, crying for his lost love and for justice, but never can rest as long as his body lacks proper burial."

I felt sure that some part of this story was wrong, but thanked her and remained on the bench, staring upwards at the ancient bridge as if I could make it speak. It was an hour before I could bring myself to move on to meet with Rafe de Piro.

Walter's friend was dark, lively, and seemed much too young to have fought in Vietnam. A sunburst of wrinkles on either side of his eyes was the only cue that he was older than thirty. He was lean and athletic, dressed in elegantly casual clothing that would have delighted Diana Fowley back when she tried to dress me.

"Mr. Mulder, I am so happy to meet you. Welcome to Bracciano," he said, grabbing both of my hands in his. He asked, "Are you Walter's new young man? About time, I say."

My blush in response to this question surprised me. I shook my head and said, "Walter and I are just friends. He asked me to investigate what Alex Krycek di d when he was here."

"Oh, that one...a beauty, but a very odd man," de Piro said.

De Piro didn't know anything more than he had relayed to Walter in the weeks after Krycek disappeared. At first, he said, Alex appeared exhausted and had slept a great deal.

"He had nightmares," de Piro added, "I heard him shouting and moaning things in the local dialect, which surprised me as he said that he was of Russian ancestry and had only taken Italian in college. I encouraged him to walk around in the town and he spent some time away, coming back here very late. The next day, he seemed very moody, angry, and that night he disappeared, taking my money and some small, valuable items. For Walter's sake, I didn't press charges. My unfortunate friend was grieved enough."

It was easy enough to believe that there was no mystery to what had happened. Krycek had used Walter to get out of the United States, holed up here long enough to lick his wounds, and then, had turned on his host. Eventually, I knew that he had ended up in Hong Kong, trying to sell secrets off the MJ DAT tape that he had taken from Walter. He had tried to seduce me and played one side against another until he had come to his sorry end.

"He seemed like a different man after that one night in town," de Piro mused. "Prior to that, he seemed sad and lost, missing Walter very much. It was as if a different person returned from the Castle Bridge."

The bridge...

I knew there was something about that local legend that gripped me although it seemed common enough in the telling. I said, "Walter mentioned that Krycek wanted to investigate your local ghost story."

"Ah, yes, our poor one-armed highwayman," de Piro said.

"Yes, I met a woman in town who told me of the ill-fated outlaw lover. It did sound as if it was a classic ghost story," I replied.

"I imagine she told you the bowdlerized version," de Piro said, "that he was a highwaymen in love with the daughter of the duke. Among the artifacts that I curate are some letters from our Duke. You can read them now as photo images or transcripts although they aren't among the items set for display. Apparently, the duke in question may have hung the outlaw, not for being a highwayman, but for seducing his son. Son, not daughter..."

"Not something that the man would have wanted on paper," I said.

"No, he alludes to the man in question as 'a fellow of low morals and ill repute, said to be given to the French vice'," de Piro said. "Of course, in France, they call it the English vice."

"So, it's a true story?" I asked, intrigued.

"Yes, apparently, the young man in question, the duke's son, made a great effort to find his lover's body after he inherited, but no one would admit knowing which cross road held his grave. He erected a marble monument anyway, but the body lies elsewhere. There's a tombstone that is alleged to belong to the sad-fated outlaw on this property," de Piro said.

"I want to read the letters and records of that period," I said. I felt guilty for pursuing an old fashioned haunting when Walter had sent me to find out what caused Krycek to change.

Bracciano was like a time capsule. History was layered here with little disruption. It had never fallen entirely to an enemy. Fires, floods, and earthquakes had passed it by. It wore its modern dress, as if it was the most transient of fashions. The ruling family still existed, having survived World War I and II, as if as blessed as the city. The modern generation lived in Rome, leaving the mansion to be converted into a hotel and the castle into a museum. de Piro lived in what had been the gamekeeper's cottage and looked after the family interests, although the museum had a professional staff.

It was strange to be surrounded by academia. I had not been in an atmosphere like this since I was at Oxford. It made me feel very young; and as for the castle, I felt instantly at home.

Most of the family history was the type of thing you see in any ancient records. There were financial records. How many yards of cloth were required to clothe the servants...how much grain was stored and how much sold...that kind of thing. I found pay records for 1583. Among the expenses, I found that Alessandro de Gliochoverde had been paid for tutoring Guglielmo Farvi LaMarca in sword craft. Guglielmo had inherited the ducal mantle a few years later, going on and dutifully begetting more little Farvi scions to carry the family line to the present day.

It was just a footnote, but I felt a strange chill. Restless, I followed my instincts along the corridor. de Piro had given me the keys and carte blanche. Although the Farvi-LaMarca family might no longer own the town or even the title to the castle, they were still treated with respect. My so-called family history research allowed me to travel anywhere in the castle I pleased.

My uneasiness increased when I entered a room that had been recreated in an exact duplicate of a fifteenth century bedroom. There was a narrow window. I went to it and looked out, finding it faced the bridge where I had the vision of the hanged man. Putting my hand on the stone ledge, I leaned forward and...

I fell into a waking dream. I was myself yet I knew that my name wasn't Mulder. My name was Guglielmo...Guglielmo Farvi LaMarca.

Centuries Past: Guglielmo

I had been in bed and now I rose yawning. I realized that I had been alone in my bed and remembered that my wife kept to her own chambers, ill and surly with the heaviness of our impending child. I was fond of her in my own way, but I was glad enough to be relieved of my duties in her bed. I felt my father and that cold bastard, Carlo de Artise counted every thrust I made into my wife's body, hoping that the seed might take. All I was to them was a stud horse.

It was not even dawn, but I was restless. I thought I'd heard a cry in the night and the sounds of struggle. It was probably just a nightmare. I'd had them since my father and de Artise had driven my lover away. I was naked and scratched at my behind, wondering if I had caught a case of the lice from that whore I had idled with at the tavern a fortnight ago. I only slept with her because her green eyes reminded me of my Alessandro.

As Alessandro crossed my mind, as he did a thousand times a day, I vowed again that moment my father died, de Artise was dead. I knew Alessandro had not taken the missing purse. He had no reason to steal. Carlo simply sought a reason to chase my lover and my only true ally away. His own wife had run off with the gypsies, taking their only child. Instead of chasing after his own son, he has set his affections on me such as they were. I suppose I should be glad that he was fond of me. Otherwise, he would have found a way to kill me and despoil me of my inheritance. God help me, I feared that man and made a pretense of being as easily manipulated as my sire to keep on de Artise's good side.

It was cold for early summer. The stone bit at my bare feet and the ledge felt like ice beneath my hands. In the dim gray light, I could not be certain what I saw, but it seemed that some poor fool had hung himself on the bridge. In the distance, I saw de Artise commanding his men to remove the body. My legs turned to water beneath me. I recognized that hair, that long lustrous silk I had gripped so many times in passion. The form was oddly shaped as well. I had not seen my love since that horror had despoiled him, but I had heard from de Artise that he had lost his left arm. The man had told me to end my desire, but he could not understand love. Love's eyes would have ignored the hurt and seen only my Alessandro, who would always be most beautiful to me.

The rough stone scraped at my hands as I fell to my knees, an unmanly scream dying on my lips.

My weakness fled as it came to me that perhaps he was not dead or even that I had been mistaken and it was not my Alessandro. I put on my clothing in ill haste, noticing that my sword and my dagger were gone. I had not so much as the knife I carried for the cutting of meat.

My door was barred and no one would come to my call. I watched, cursing as they loaded my love onto a cart and trundled him from my sight.

My father finally unlocked the door as the evening sun fell. The barber was let in to my chambers to wash the bloody wreck of my fists.

"He was a suicide," my father said. "He would have been hung anyway, but due to his mortal sin, he must be buried at the cross road lest his spirit rise to haunt us."

"Alessandro would not have taken his own life," I said. "He loved life too dearly for that."

"It's over. It was a shameful chapter in your life and now you must move on," my father said.

I was cunning like a fox. I calmed myself and made every appearance of forgetting, but as soon as the watch on me slackened, I checked every road for trace of an unhallowed burial. I saw none. What could I do? Dig up every road in Bracciano?

Their trick did not work to confuse his ghost. He haunts them. I've heard their screams from my bed and I smiled. God help me, I smiled even on the day when they found my father frozen in death, sitting straight up in his bed, his withered lips gaped open in a scream. He had died of fright, they said.

How clever I was...de Artise came to me after my father's death and offered his advice to me. He would serve me as faithfully as he had my sire. I smiled at him and offered the old man my arm.

"Come walk with me," I bade him and led him to the tower where my love and I had shared our first adult kiss.

We looked upon my city and I asked him, "At which roadway, did you bury my Alessandro?"

The bastard would not tell me and I cast him down the stairs. I laughed to see him fall, but no one heard me, or no one would admit it. He was old, they said, and grieved by my father's death. He was overcome by dizziness brought on by those emotions and fell. Would only that his death have brought back my Alessandro...

The townspeople say my love walks on the bridge, crying in pain as he clutches at his empty sleeve. Drunk or sober, I cannot see him. I can never see him.

<<<<O>>>>

The Present: Mulder

Still clutching the cold stone, I came back to myself, but I didn't doubt that what I had seen was real. My emotions were as raw as if I had just experienced every scene in my memories.

My grip eased on the casement as I returned to the present. I sagged, turning my back on the bridge. I wished I could have dismissed my vision as an example of hysteria, influenced by the gothic atmosphere and the repeated story of the hanged man, but I couldn't channel Scully's skeptical attitude. I was sure that it had happened and sure that I had once stood here and seen my lover's body taken from the noose to be buried in ignominy.

My eyes restlessly traveled around the room until I saw a pattern repeated in the stones. There was a larger stone that disrupted the smooth repetition of the mortar. I went to it and as soon as my hands touched it, it seemed as if I had done this a thousand times. You had to push in and at the same time, twist the stone sideways. Dust and a few crumpled bits of stone rewarded my efforts before the façade loosened, revealing a small aperture. Inside was a metal box, and inside that was a book, a hand written confession.

Normally, I would have struggled to read the archaic Italian, but I could read this easily. Saving a few flourishes, it so resembled my handwriting that I was sure it would have fooled an expert. I carried the ancient paper back to the cold room. By all rights, I should have summoned the museum staff, but it seemed as if this was mine.

I sat and read until my vision blurred. Guglielmo Farvi LaMarca had lived to be old. He had children, produced dutifully by his wife every year or so. Yet, he remained an unhappy man, longing for his Alessandro and relentless in his pursuit of ghosts to the point where only his wealth spared him from persecution as a sorcerer. He never found his lover's body, but erected a monument to him anyway over the body of his identical twin, who had been murdered by the carelessness of Carlo de Artise.

I knew what had happened. I didn't believe in ghosts particularly nor did I rule them out. I had seen many strange things and not all of them were the result of the aliens. To this moment, I had never understood karma or believed in it.

I believed in free will. My entire life was a testimony to my refusal to accept destiny or to bow down to the forces, which manipulated those around me. Yet, how many times had I realized that I was leashed by the sins of my father and mother?

Getting into the car that de Piro had loaned me; I drove with no destination in mind. Soon, I was idling as a flagger directed traffic around construction. A minor earthquake had buckled the road. It must have taken place the moment that I was landing in Rome and before I'd made my transfer to the air taxi that would take me to Bracciano.

Consternation echoed as the earthmover stopped. I heard the words, " e una tomba. La Madre di Dio, la bara e il limite con le catene!"

A coffin bound with chains? Instantly, I knew what brought me here. I watched as the local authorities were brought and bullied my way into the examination. The bones were almost perfectly preserved. You could see the place where the vertebra had been twisted in the hanging. The marks of attempts to form a smooth knob of the end of the left arm were clearly visible.

"Beautiful teeth," the archeologist remarked. "He was a handsome man and tall for the times."

Care had been taken to bury the coffin deep. It was heavy wood and bound with iron. They must have been afraid his spirit would walk. With the museum so near, it was easy enough to identify a time period, the end of the Sixteenth Century. Shakespeare's time and the waning of Italy as a major power. The methods used in the tooling, a coin found with the bones, all pinpointed the date of death.

Bracciano had the bones to go with the ghost tale.

Cruder voices wanted the skeleton put on display, but the latest of the LaMarca family prevailed. I hadn't even had to ask de Piro to prompt him. He had a grave dug in the small cemetery on the estate. After I showed him the journal, we even had a name to put on the stone, Alessandro Gliochoverde. I added the word, 'Beloved', hoping that somehow his ghost would see and believe. Yet, I had no sense that Alessandro was here. The townspeople said in somewhat disappointed tones that it had not been seen in years.

I knew where the ghost had gone. I knew why Alex had not stayed in Bracciano to wait for his Walter.

My lover from the past had taken Alex. A possessed man had returned to flit in and out of our lives. I finally understood why I craved Alex more after I found him in Hong Kong. I think my heart knew that it was not Alex...that it was my long lost Alessandro.

I'd wanted to call Walter and try to explain. God knows... he'd have as much or as little reason to believe this, as he had to accept some of my wilder case reports. He had to accept it though.

Instinct told me that there wasn't time. If I didn't get to Walter soon, he was going to make a terrible mistake. I bribed a woman to allow me to take her seat and boarded this earlier flight. I had to save Walter from himself.

<<<<O>>>>

The Present: Walter

I heard from Mulder almost every day and I suspected that he was getting reports from Kim and Scully as well. Poor Mulder, he never really understood me. He saw me as the self-contained boss that I had showed him most of the time. Even when the role slipped, as it did during that mess with the prostitute, he quickly pegged me back in the bureaucratic role that I seemed to fit so well.

In a big family, to survive, you have to appear to go along with the flow. I carried that learned behavior into the army and the FBI. Now, I used that skill to appear as normal, calm, and rational as they had always expected me to be.

I was waiting to find out if I had any reason to hope. One woman held the answer, but I was not sure if she would come.

However, Alex's legacy lived after him. She was in my apartment when I returned. Alex's female counterpart, Marita. I had not seen her since that meeting before Mulder disappeared.

"You wanted to see me. Here I am," Marita said.

Her silver blond elegance made her look like some sleek cat. I half expected her to wet a paw and start grooming herself.

"Is Alex Krycek really dead?" I asked.

"You should know. You shot him," Marita said.

"I shot him, but was it him or a replacement?" I said.

"He was no more of a replacement than Mulder was," Marita said, crossing her legs. Her carefully manicured hand tapped the expensive stocking on her slim leg. The polish was blood red. Her nylons were black. It reminded me of the way Alex died, the way I had killed him. I think she meant to do that.

"Could the alien biotechnology repair the damage?" I asked.

"They take people apart and put them back together," Marita said, "What do you think?"

"I need the vaccine," I told her.

"I'm not sure he wanted to live," Marita said. "There was something wrong with Krycek. I remember he told me once that he loved you and wanted to go back to you. Yet, he tortured you."

"It wasn't him," I said with confidence. "The man who held that palm pilot was not the Alex I knew."

"I'm not sure if any of us knew Alex," Marita said. She stood and tossed me a small case. It held a syringe and two tubes of fluid. "One for him and the other to analyze. Don't call me again, Skinner. I'm finished with this now. I want to have a life."

"Thank you," I said, looking at the syringe with reverence.

Marita shook her head as she passed me. She said, "I hope you don't regret this, Skinner. I don't understand loving someone enough to take a chance such as you are taking. He may just wake and finish you the next time he uses the control for the nanobytes."

I had thought long and hard to come up with a reasonable pretext for opening the grave. I finally decided to say that I wanted the body moved to a different graveyard where I had purchased a mausoleum.

I knew I had less than a day to accomplish my wild gamble. Mulder was returning. In his last call he said he had something to tell me. His voice sounded urgent, but he wouldn't tell me more. He said it would be better said in person.

Once the coffin had been delivered and I was left alone in the stone crypt with Alex, fear and repulsion held me in immobile as I contemplated the casket. If I were wrong, I would face a sight more hideous than the way that I had killed my lover. I readied the syringe and set it aside, drawing a deep breath.

His body was intact. I had been right. I opened the expensive jacket and jabbed the syringe deep into the heart.

At first, there was nothing and then he sat straight up, a rattling breath shaking him. He arched back in agony, filling his lungs and screaming.

"Alex," I said, "Alex, I'm here."

"Gualtiero, you bastard, you tried to kill me," Alex spat. His eyes were mad with rage.

I had guessed wrong. Somehow whatever had changed him was still extant. This was not my lover.

"I'm going to kill you," he said. "You should have left me in the grave."

Mulder's voice came quietly from behind me. "Walter, you should have waited. When I heard what you were doing, I thought it was something like this."

I turned and saw Mulder standing there looking calmer and more in control of himself than I had ever seen him. He smiled at me and said, "It's going to be okay, Walter. I know what to do."

Mulder walked over to the casket and held out his hand, helping Alex out. I saw the fury fade from the lovely face and I turned away, defeated. It was over. I had lost. Alex was alive, but he didn't love me.

"Alessandro, this is wrong," Mulder said.

"Guglielmo? You know me?" Alex said.

"Yes, I know you. I know what happened to you. Alessandro, you can rest now. Your body has been laid in a consecrated grave next to your brother's and mother's."

As I turned to go, Mulder said. "Walter, don't leave. It's not what you think."

"He's in love with you," I said.

"It depends on your definition of him," Mulder said.

"I have no intention of resting in my grave. Why should I? I was robbed of my life. I want it back," Alex said. "I want to be with you, Guglielmo."

His voice was different. It had a lilt to it that seemed vaguely familiar. Alex clung to Mulder's hand. He tilted his chin in my direction and said, "I won't hurt him if you wish, Guglielmo. Things are different now. We can live together. Your father is dead. Carlo is dead. In this time, we can live together. We can marry even if you wish. We can have the kind of life you once promised me."

"What about Alessio?" Mulder asked. "His life was even shorter than your life was."

"But he's had his chance over and over while I was trapped," Alex said.

"Your own hatred and fear trapped you, my love. If you had been able to let go and move on, we might have been together now. This body you wear is Alessio's, Alex's," Mulder said. "I can never love you if you wear his body."

"I seduced you wearing it before. I know your passions, Guglielmo. You are like me. The pleasures of the flesh call to you," Alex said.

I recognized the sarcastic edge to that voice. This man had spoken to me many times since Alex returned from Italy.

"I've changed," Mulder said. "In this lifetime, I haven't let my passions control me. I won't ever make love to you in that stolen body."

"You would have. You will," Alex said.

"No, I won't. Alessandro, if you want a life, take mine. Take this body because that's the only way you'll have it. Let Alessio complete his life. Walter has never harmed you. Gualtiero was your friend. He always helped you," Mulder said.

"Where was he when they hanged me?" Alex asked. "It took so long to die. I suffered, Guglielmo. No one helped me then."

"And you punished him with pain because of that? How could he have known?" Mulder said.

"Guglielmo, don't ask this of me," Alex said.

"How can you do this to Alessio? You said you loved him. You swore to revenge him," Mulder said.

Now, I saw shame written on the proud face. Mulder said, "If you hadn't challenged him to run, he wouldn't have died, but he never reproved you, did he? Didn't you feel him near you, trying to lead you to the path to be reborn?"

The fierce green eyes shaded and Alex looked down. "Yes," he said. "I knew he was there, but I didn't understand. I didn't know there would be another chance. I thought I would burn in hell."

"No more than I did," Mulder said. "We will be together. Trust me, love. Come to me. Come within me."

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Walter, there were two of them. The Alex that hurt you was this one. This is Alessandro...the man I loved many lifetimes ago. He took Alex over in Italy, possessed him."

I stared at Mulder. That was as crazy a story I had ever heard out of him.

Mulder said, "Believe me, Walter. Look in your heart. Could your Alex have done those things to you? I'm afraid my Alessandro was capable of them. He was, is, a man of great passions..."

Turning back to Alex, Mulder offered his hand and said, "Alessandro, leave him. If you don't free Alex, you will lose my love forever. I will give you my body willingly. We can be one."

Now, I felt that I had to stop him. Mulder couldn't give up his life to free Alex. I couldn't accept that and neither would the Alex that I knew. I said, "Mulder, you can't..."

His face was transfigured. He said, "Alessandro, I love you more than life. Take my body. Take me."

I don't know what choice my tormentor would have made. I suddenly realized that there was one who had not spoken. My soul. My Alex.

I called to him then.

"Alex, Alessio, beloved, I know you are there inside of him. Fight him. Fight for your life," I shouted.

It wasn't instant. Alex's body continued to stand as if indecisive for what seemed like eternity. Then I saw a silent struggle begin. Vietnam and all, I never saw a greater battle than was waged for Alex's body between two souls. Mulder and I waited. There was nothing we could do, save kill him again and neither of us could endure that. Finally, the struggle in that beautiful face stilled. He blinked once and then moved toward Mulder. I sagged. Either way I would lose.

"I forgot how much I loved him," Alessandro said. "He wasn't strong as I was, but he was dear. I was wrong, Guglielmo. I was wrong. Let me stay with you, love, until the end of days. I will wait. I can wait."

He turned to me. "Gualtiero, Walter, I'm sorry," Alessandro said. His lips brushed my cheek and he said, "You take care of Alessio. If you ever hurt him, I'll haunt you."

I heard his laughter and it wasn't cruel, merely wild. This was the man that Guglielmo and Alessio had loved.

When he went to Mulder, he offered his lips, eyes closing. His lashes fluttered against his cheekbones. "One kiss. Our last in this lifetime. Let our breath mingle and then, I'll live in your heart until it's time to move on."

I looked away until a hand rested on my shoulder. I turned and saw Alex's eyes, Alessio's eyes. I took his hand, kissed his palm. Kissed the tip of his fingers. "Never leave me," I said, embracing him.

"Mulder, are you all right?" I asked. It was hard for me to believe that Alessandro had surrendered that easily.

His wry smile greeted me. There was nothing but vintage Mulder in that look. He said, "Other than being my own X-File again, I'm fine. I feel better than I ever have in my life."

His eyes took on a tender look as if in inner communication and he added, "He wasn't afraid. He is at peace."

"Mulder, I'm sorry," I said. My grip tightened on Alex's hand.

Mulder shrugged and said, "Now, I know. Alessandro and I will move on someday. We'll have our chance and maybe it will lead to happiness. He made the right choice in the end."

"Alex," I said.

My lover said nothing except with his glowing eyes and fervent face. He embraced me again and I held him close. He was home at last. He was my Alex and would be forever. Both of us looked at Mulder with gratitude so deep that it was akin to love. He smiled back at us.

For a moment, I could have sworn that I saw the glint of Alessandro in his eyes, but the demon was gone, vanquished by love. If Alessandro's soul had joined to Mulder's, they were at peace after long centuries apart.

Hand in hand, Alex and I left Mulder to his thoughts.

Like twin stars; Alex and I were together...lost no more.

The End

  
Archived: January 11, 2002 


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